Paviche's Pretty Face
by deaths calling card
Summary: What is Paviche's face was more than a sign of vanity, but a sign of contract? Of possession? And if so, who is the owner of the contract that mad the beautiful Largo sign at the dotted line?


Pet Project

Paviche's Pretty Face

What if wearing other people's faces had not been something Paviche chose, but was forced into? What if he had accidentally caused the disappearance of someone he wasn't supposed to- which caused someone close to him excruciating pain and loss? And that same person decides that if Paviche can remove that special person out of the world, then he could just as easily replace them?

There is going to be gore, blood, guts, implications of yaoi (boyxboy love: luigipaviche & graverobberpaviche), sadism, masochism, angst, and all that jazz. If you have a problem with it, you have been warned. Flames will be used to burn Mrs. Lovett and make more meat pies.

If you wish to adopt this story/idea I would be most pleased, just inform me. I know for a fact I will not be updating frequently, forgive me, but once again, you have been warned.

Sadly I do not own anyone or anything related to Repo! The Genetic Opera. If I did I would be extremely rich and there would be more truth in my ideas than that of just random notions my brain came up with while I was asleep.

(This is just a teaser mind you)

In a world where anything and everything can be manufactured or else recycled, anything can be replaced in form. If you have lost a limb it can be easily purchased and sewn on to your body. If you are in need of a new kidney it will be provided with a small service charge. If you need a new face one will be provided. In this world, anything and everything can be obtained for a small token price. But perhaps the people of this world didn't quite grasp how far those truths really ran- to not just replace a limb, or the innards, or the face, but the entire being, their body, their soul's shell.

"_You know, wearing her dress, her perfume, her hairpin, you could really be her, my beautiful Bella Dona. In fact, the only reason you aren't is because you are some cheap imitation of her whose only purpose is to become her!"_

"_Per favore fratello, no-a more."_

"_This is your own fault fratello. It is all your fault and you best remember that and be quiet."_

_The effeminate seventeen year old closed his mouth, head down, eyes focused on the floor as his mind tried to compartmentalize the situation at hand. How could he have gotten involved in something so sinister, so sickening…?_

"Pavi, why do you always wear a different face? What happened to your own?"

_The perfectly maintained mask seemed to crack a little at its upper corner as the smile that appeared seemed to be removing the support structure of its ornate outer guise. _

"It's-a a long story. It would-a take too much-a time. Time The Pavi doesn't-a have."

"_You two look so similar, are you perhaps siblings?"_

"_Every-a-one wishes to be like-a the Pavi~ Everyone. Who wouldn't?"_

That's how it always started out, someone pointing out the striking similarities, the ones that pulled the unwilling persons together, the ones that marked them together, drawing them tighter and tighter. Ties so falsely knotted could only result in disaster, in pain.

"_Marie? Marie? Maaaarie?"_

_Paviche just stood there, rooted to the spot, terrified beyond any logical reason other then that his fratello had a knife, whose actions were determined by its wielder's emotions._

"_YOU! It's your fault! I'll kill you!"_

"Every-a day I would play in the playground-a of his sick delusions, standing on the match of fate lit on both-a ends, knowing there was-a no way to escape."

"_Everyone said how similar you both looked, well, I know the differences." _

_The older of the two said in a low, menacing voice, causing the hairs on Paviche's neck to stand on end as he lay on the ground, pinned, trapped, mesmerized by the gleam of the silver knife that was mere centimeters from his face._

"It was my-a fault though. I walked into it. I created it. It was mi fault. All mi fault!"

"_First, her cheek bones were higher…" The only response to the remark was a whimper, "Her eyebrows more symmetrical…" Another whimper, another pained mewl. "Her cheeks were slightly more hollow…" The breath became harsher, coming in soft gasps, eyes sliding shut, "Her eyes more rounded…" Another hiss and tremble from the trapped figure, "Her skin softer…" A howl of pain erupted from below the speaker, "Her lips rosier…." Silent screams remained unheard as the continued remarks repeated themselves, becoming louder as the pain grew more agonizing until there ceased to be an up or down or time and space in the world. _

It wasn't the pain that frightened him, or the knife, or the amount of blood, no, it was the eyes. The eyes that seemed to have lost all sense, the eyes that never seemed to contrast. It was the eyes not had not so much as fluttered when the punishment was dealt, betraying their possessor to not notice or care about his actions. What they caused.

_With each word spoken, the imperfections were removed from the once beautiful face, now marred, destroyed, forever forgotten, to be replaced by a new, more perfect one._

The face. That evil face. That beautiful, innocent, cold face. The feel of the soft, velvety flesh was enough to make what remained of his nerve endings to shudder, wishing with all might that the flesh be removed, put away, destroyed, anything but being near him. Its subtle warmth that remained on its underside made his blood curdle, made his heart go cold in pure mortification.

"_There, now you are bella. My bella, sweet, perfect, loving, kind Marie."_

"Hehe. I really should have known better. I-a really should have. But-a it was-a my brother. I had to-a be there. I just-a wish it didn't have to be-a my face."

_And with those final words the beautiful flesh mask was pulled away from its wearer, revealing the remnants of what used to be the most beautiful face- the last remaining imperfections no amount of carving could remove._


End file.
